Moving On
by Serenity Cox
Summary: Molly Hooper has had enough of Sherlock's meddling. She decides to move on from Sherlock. But what will happen when she realizes that Sherlock may like her too? (Setting: Season 4 Episode 3, and beyond.)
1. Chapter 1

For those of you who don't know, there are major spoilers from Sherlock Season 4 ahead! If you have not watched season 4 yet, you may not want to read this story.

Anyways. This story starts off with Molly hanging up the phone after her phone call with Sherlock. This was the famous phone call in episode 3, The Final Problem, where Sherlock had to convince Molly to say "I love you" to him. At first, Molly refused to fulfill Sherlock's request, but she eventually gave in at the last second. This is the aftermath of said Sherlock scene. Please enjoy. XOX -Serenity.

* * *

Molly hung up the phone, and wordlessly placed it back on the table. She angrily wiped her tears away.

"You idiot," she whispered to herself. "Why did you say it? Why?"

Even as she asked herself, Molly already knew the answer. She'd said it herself. She still loved him. Ever since she met him she had been in love with him.

Sighing, Molly made her way to the couch and slumped down, defeated. Today had been a terrible day. A frustrating day at work, a rude man on the subway, and an anxious call from her mother's doctor. And now this. Sherlock calling her for another one of his "experiments". Molly wasn't sure if she could survive another minute at the rate things were going.

From her right came a low purring noise. Molly turned to find Toby leaping into her lap, paws outstretched. Even through her tears, she couldn't help laughing. "Thanks, Tobes," she whispered.

Toby blinked up at Molly and noticed her tear-stained face. He growled softly.

"Yes, I know, I know. It's time for us to move on, isn't it?"

Toby nodded and licked his paw.

"You know what, Tobes? You stay right there. I'll go get the wine, and we'll watch some Bridget Jones. We'll moon over Colin Firth, and forget all about this terrible day, hm?" Molly scratched Toby between his ears affectionately. She rose lazily from the couch, and shuffled over to the fridge.

She bent over and opened the fridge. "Let's see, what have we here?"

Molly's mobile buzzed. She ignored it.

"What do you think, Tobes?" she called out. "Shall we crack open the rosé? I know how much you love it!"

Toby growled his assent.

"Excellent." Molly grabbed the bottle of wine and stumbled back to the couch. She grabbed her copy of Bridget Jones from the DVD collection and slid it into the telly.

The telly crackled to life. Immediately, Celine Dion's "All By Myself" blared through the speakers as the beginning credits began to roll.

Molly suddenly had an ironic thought as she sipped the rosé, which was this: she and Bridget Jones were the same person.

 _Both of us are lonely, single women approaching 40. Both of us are looking for love, but haven't found it yet. (Well, not till the end of the movie, anyways.) Both of us are absolute crap at public speaking._

"And," Molly said aloud, "both of us are having trouble managing the alcohol."

She grinned down at Toby, who purred in agreement.

Sighing, Molly downed the rest of the wine in her glass. She stared forlornly at the empty glass. How had she become so pathetic?

Despite her best efforts, Molly still found her thoughts turning back to Sherlock. This time, he had really and truly crossed the line. Suddenly angry, Molly slammed her empty wine glass down on the table, causing Toby to jump. She glared at the telly, filled with inexplicable rage.

How could he? And she thought he had been getting better. All of these years, she had faithfully attended to him, aiding him with cases at a moment's notice. Rolling out of bed at two in the morning to help him assess a dead body. She had shamelessly served him, day in and day out. And for what?

Molly shook her head. "Well, not anymore," she said aloud. She was surprised to finally hear the words coming out of her mouth. Even Toby perked up and glanced at her curiously.

"I really mean it this time," she said to Toby, who was eyeing her in astonishment. "No more Sherlock. I won't be helping him with cases anymore, either. I'll stop by occasionally to see John, but that's all."

Molly felt as if she had been freed of some burden. All this time, her life had revolved around Sherlock. But now? She was free to do whatever she wanted.

Molly snatched up the bottle of rosé and poured herself a generous helping. She raised her glass and clinked imaginary cheers with Toby. "To freedom," she announced, and drank.


	2. Chapter 2

Molly tugged anxiously on her Christmas jumper. She raised her hand to ring the doorbell, but again, stopped short.

"I should never have come," she told herself angrily. _Why should I care about inconveniencing Sherlock? It's not like he's ever cared anyways._

Lost in thought, Molly didn't notice the door opening. She was surprised to see Mrs. Hudson's face peering out from behind it.

"Molly, dear, are you alright? Sherlock's busy with a case right now... something about spontaneous combustion and a rare plant." Mrs. Hudson smiled kindly at Molly.

"Oh..." Molly considered, leaning her head on the door frame. "Shall I come back later?"

"Oh, no, do come in and have a cup of tea!" Mrs. Hudson protested. She ushered Molly into the foyer. "I can't just send you away, can I?"

"I suppose not," Molly said absentmindedly. Inwardly, she was already panicking. Why hadn't she planned what to say to Sherlock? She was going to look like an absolute idiot, as usual.

"Boys!" Mrs. Hudson called out as they climbed the stairs. "Molly is here! Shall I fetch anyone a cup of tea?"

No response from within the flat. Molly slowed her steps and paused. She could hear faint voices at the end of the hallway. Furrowing her brow, she pushed past Mrs Hudson, and pulled the door to the flat wide open.

Sure enough, Sherlock and John were arguing loudly. Both paused to look at Molly, who stood awkwardly in the doorway to the flat.

John was the first to speak. "Molly," he smiled tightly. "What brings you here?"

"She's got something to tell us, John." Sherlock said, noting Molly's disheveled appearance. He sat down carefully on the sofa. "It looks serious. What is it, Molly?"

John glanced in surprise at Sherlock.

"Well, not as serious as you make it out to be, Sherlock," Molly backtracked. "It's just... something I've been thinking about for quite some time."

Molly fumbled nervously with her hands before continuing. "I've... decided to quit."

"Quit? What? Your job at St. Barts?" John asked in concern. Mrs. Hudson overheard from within the kitchen. She stepped anxiously into the doorway to watch the exchange.

"Well... no," Molly explained uneasily. "My second job, that is."

"Your second job?" John's concern turned into relief. "Whatever for? I never knew you had a second job."

There was a pause.

"John, we ARE her second job. That's what she is saying. She won't be seeing us anymore," Sherlock said quietly, staring at Molly's face.

Molly avoided his glance. The silence was unnerving. A year ago, Sherlock would have scoffed at her and shown her to the door. But now... something had changed.

"Hold on a minute. Molly?" John said, watching her. "I mean... we— I had no idea you felt this way. Is there any way we could change your mind?"

Coincidentally, Molly looked up and met Sherlock's gaze. For the first time, she didn't feel the need to look away.

"No," she said quietly. "I don't think so."

* * *

Molly paused for a moment. She turned around. The door to the flat remained closed. For a moment, she wished that Sherlock would come running after her. She convinced herself momentarily that he would. She imagined him bursting through the door, running breathlessly up to her. Saying that he had made a mistake— that he really did want her to stay. That she really did count.

Molly waited and waited. She waited in the cold, as she always had done.

But no Sherlock appeared. Finally, Molly sighed and took a last glance at the 221B door. She turned, and with an air of finality, continued down the street.


End file.
